The Demon's Revenge
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A guest's fantasy to play Igor goes in an unexpected direction. Conclusion of 'To Defeat a Demon'.
1. Chapter 1

§ § § -- August 9, 1990: Tampere, Finland

Staying awake till two in the morning wasn't hard; she hadn't been able to sleep much in the last month anyway. Now, moving as quietly as she could in her small room, she worked by the moonlight that streamed in through the window, packing all her clothes into two suitcases and stuffing an oversized duffel bag with anything else that wouldn't fit. Impatient to leave, she zipped the duffel shut with a rasp that sounded like a shriek in the silent room. She froze, waiting to see if the noise had awakened anyone. A full minute passed with no sound, and she finally shouldered the duffel, picked up a suitcase in each hand and turned toward the door.

As she did, she spotted the framed photo on the wall. As much as she wanted – needed – to escape, she simply couldn't bear to leave that behind. With a tiny sigh, she set the suitcases down, removed the photo from its hook, and wedged it into the duffel. She then left the room, suitcases in hands, and departed the house on cat feet, without looking back. She would catch the train at the downtown station. In less than half an hour, she had embarked on the two-hour train ride to Helsinki and the international airport. It was time to go home.

‡ ‡ ‡ -- August 10, 1990: Fantasy Island

Roarke felt unaccountably weary as he stared at the pale-faced young Italian woman who stood in front of his desk. She had desperately wanted the job and had bent so far backwards to please Roarke that she sometimes fell over, figuratively speaking. But it was clear that she simply didn't have the aptitude for the job. Moreover, Roarke knew she was running away from something or someone, and hiding on the island wouldn't help. She needed to face down her internal demons.

"I am terribly sorry," he said finally, as gently as he could.

He could see that those four words told her all she needed to know. The poor woman had known for some time that she wasn't quite up to par, and had redoubled her efforts in an attempt to keep her job. But she had known as well as anyone else that it wasn't working. "I did my best," she pleaded. "I tried so hard, Mr. Roarke."

"I know you did," he said. "But this just isn't the answer for you, and you know that as well as I." He leaned forward. "Fleeing won't solve your problems, Paola. You must find a way to resolve them; that is the only way you can free yourself of them once and for all."

Paola's face contorted and her jaw worked for a long moment, as if she were fighting some inner war with herself; then she let out a cry of frustration and defeat. "I can't," she wailed. "I just can't. I…" She lost the battle for composure, turned and fled the room even as she broke down into sobs.

The door slammed behind her, and Roarke sagged back in his chair, sighing deeply. Yet another assistant, gone. Never had he imagined it would come down to this. In the seven years since Tattoo's marriage he had gone through assistant after assistant, and for about two months in 1988 he had even tried working with no assistant at all. Needless to say, it had been exhausting. Julie had filled in on many occasions, but she had made it clear that she wasn't interested in the position on a permanent basis. The young woman he had just dismissed had been his fifteenth assistant since Tattoo's departure. The silence in the room was enough to lull Roarke into giving in to his weariness, something he rarely did, and he rested his aching head in his hands.

Rushing down the porch, Paola nearly collided with a sad-faced young woman bearing suitcases. _"Scusi,"_ she blurted in Italian and whirled away up the lane, leaving the new arrival staring after her in surprise and curiosity.

"Do you need any help, miss?" The question came from the young Polynesian man who had driven her to the main house. She shook her head quickly.

"No, that's all right," she said. "I can manage from here. Thank you anyway." The driver nodded and smiled politely, then got back in the car and drove away. She heaved her duffel bag over her shoulder again, hefted the suitcases and crossed the porch, letting herself in as quietly as possible. The elegant office was so still that she could hear the grandfather clock ticking serenely away, and as if warned to keep silent, she noiselessly rested the luggage on the foyer floor. But the duffel bag rolled off her shoulder and thudded to the floor, bringing her back to a standing position at the precise moment the figure at the desk lifted his head. The two stared at each other.

It took Roarke a moment to fully register the identity of the newcomer, and when he did, he stood up slowly, his eyes lighting. "Leslie," he exclaimed. "Why, it's you, my child!"

She edged around the suitcases and smiled hopefully. "I'm home, Mr. Roarke."

"Indeed you are!" he agreed, and with that he came out from behind the desk to greet her. He made it no more than halfway across the room before she met him headlong, rushing down the steps and hugging him for all she was worth. He returned the embrace in kind, feeling oddly relieved, as if some weighty burden had been lifted.

After a long moment she lifted her head and stepped back, then studied the entire room with wide, appreciative eyes. "Nothing's changed," she said with a curious relief and satisfaction in her voice. "I'm so glad."

Roarke gestured to one of the two club chairs in front of the desk, and sat opposite her when she had taken her seat. "So what brings you back to Fantasy Island so unexpectedly? Did you and Teppo finally find the time and money for a vacation?…" Then something registered. "Where _is_ Teppo?"

Leslie took a long breath, but her face had paled and her eyes flooded with tears. Roarke got the same sense of time pausing briefly that he'd experienced at his daughter's wedding five years before, and foreboding and knowledge slammed into him a split second before she said it. "Teppo died last month."

"Oh, Leslie…" he murmured, unable to react any other way. It was enough; she broke down, falling forward in her chair and rocking with her grief. Roarke reacted instinctively, rising and pulling her up as well so he could hold her and try to ease her pain. Words were so inadequate and out of place that he didn't bother with them; he simply held and rocked her as if she were a little girl, giving comfort in the best way he could.

Some ten minutes passed before she lifted her head and stared at him, her face filled with agony. "It's been a nightmare. He was my only reason for staying there, and he wouldn't leave his mother, but no one else…" Leslie stopped and choked back more sobs. "I had to get away. I just…I had to come home."

Roarke smoothed her tangled hair. "It's all right, Leslie, it's all right." There were a great many questions, but he knew she had just ended a very long journey. Leslie's grief seemed to have eaten away at her: she was too thin, her face was almost colorless, and her blue eyes had dark circles beneath them, a testimony to too little sleep and too much crying. She lifted one hand to sweep back some wayward hair, and Roarke saw how it trembled. She still wore the gold-and-diamond wedding band that Teppo had given her. "Don't try to explain anything now, child. You've endured too much, and what you need now is a good meal and some rest."

"I can't eat," Leslie mumbled dully, her head falling forward. "I haven't been hungry in five weeks."

Roarke didn't press the issue. "At the very least, you need sleep," he said. He slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her head till she met his gaze again. "Your room is still the same as you left it." He smiled at her. "You're home to stay, aren't you?"

Tears pooled in her eyes again and she nodded vigorously. "I didn't dare ask…" she began, her voice wobbly and thick with pending sobs.

Once more Roarke gathered her into his protective embrace and kissed the top of her head. "Never think for a moment that you need ask," he assured her. "This is your home, and if you want to remain permanently, you know you are welcome." He chuckled softly and rocked her a little. "I would like nothing better than to have you back in that dormer bedroom where you belong. I suspect you'll feel a little better after a shower and some sleep, and when you've rested, then we'll talk. Sleep for you is the first thing on the agenda. I need to call Julie so that she will have time to arrange her business affairs."

For the first time, she evinced an emotion other than grief. "Why? What happened?"

Roarke sighed. "I had to let another assistant go," he said. "It happened just before you arrived here. But that's for later. I'll help you take your luggage upstairs, and then you are to take a long, hot shower and sleep for the rest of the day. I don't want to see you down here before suppertime, do you understand?" Beneath the mock sternness, she could see his concern and affection, and she managed a tiny smile.

"All right," she said, bit her lip and hugged him hard again. "Oh, Mr. Roarke, I don't know what I'd do if it weren't for you and this island…thank you for letting me come home again."

"You will always, _always_ have a home here," Roarke promised firmly. "Rest assured that that will never change. Now…" He stepped back and smiled at her again. "Let's get your belongings up to your room."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- August 10, 1990

It was almost five when Leslie ventured downstairs again; she had changed into fresh clothing, consisting of a pair of faded jeans and a grass-green cotton blouse, and she had brushed her freshly washed hair. Roarke heard her bare feet padding softly down the varnished wooden treads and turned from his desk to watch her with concern. She looked a little fresher, but her face was still wan and the dark circles remained beneath her eyes. He got up and met her at the foot of the stairs. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked.

Leslie shrugged listlessly. "I tried, but I kept dreaming awful dreams." She shuddered, and Roarke wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

"I realize it's extremely painful for you, sweetheart, but I think you'll feel a little better if you tell me about it," he advised. "Talking about a traumatic experience is often the first step to healing from it. And I insist that you try to eat something. You're going to waste away if you don't."

She looked up with a faint smile. "Besides, I wouldn't want Mariki losing her temper at me. That wouldn't be much of a welcome home."

Roarke chuckled. "Indeed. Let's go and find out what's on her menu this evening."

When Mariki came out with her serving cart, she let out a loud gasp and a small shriek. "Miss Leslie, you're home!" she burst out, her round face lighting up. "Mr. Roarke, you never told me she was coming in. How long will she be here?"

"I didn't tell you because I didn't know myself that she was coming," Roarke replied humorously. "She is home to stay, Mariki. There will be time enough for explanations later, but for the moment, she needs something nourishing to eat."

"Of course, of course." Mariki lifted one tray after another off the cart, lifting the lid of each one with a flourish so that Leslie could see the dishes within. "You're looking just a bit skinny, Miss Leslie. We need to get some meat back on those bones of yours. So you'd better eat, you hear?"

Leslie saluted. "Yes, boss," she replied crisply, then grinned; and Roarke laughed, as much from relief as from amusement. "I have just one request. Do you happen to have any sangria?"

"I can whip some up in no time at all," Mariki promised and pointed at her plate. "Eat." With that, she rolled her cart briskly away down the veranda.

Still laughing, Roarke took her plate and dished out a serving of beef Stroganoff for her, adding a couple of spoonfuls apiece of carrots and peas. "That should be a good beginning for you."

Leslie waited till Roarke had filled his own plate before taking a small bite of the Stroganoff and smiling. "Mmmmm. Still as good as ever." She swallowed and met Roarke's gaze. "You know, I think just coming back to Fantasy Island has done me good. I'm beginning to feel a little safer, knowing things are still just the way they were the day I left."

"Good," Roarke said warmly, smiling at her. "Do you feel up to talking?"

She sighed deeply, regarded her plate for a moment, then hitched one shoulder nearly up to her ear. "I guess I may as well get it over with. I still can't believe he's gone."

"What happened?" Roarke asked. "What caused Teppo's death?"

She winced. "He never did stop taking those forest walks he loved so much. Between the two of us, we thought we had it all figured out. We'd talked with Launo Haavisto not long after we got to Tampere, and between Launo's questions and Teppo combing his memory, we figured out which forest was the last one he'd hiked through before Lempo insinuated himself into Teppo's brain. From then on he simply avoided that particular forest. So we felt safe in assuming that there wouldn't be any problem.

"The only thing is, Tellervo – his mother – was already starting to show signs of mental instability as early as our wedding. The very first one was that crazy request for the tears in the vial. She was still mostly lucid for the first six months or so after we got back to Finland, and Teppo brought up the whole thing to his brothers and sisters. It turned out that, when they went through family photo albums and some ancestress' diary, Tellervo was right about it being a wedding ritual in her family. It went back for countless generations. But she never explained what the purpose of that vial was for, and neither did any of the family accounts. I imagine she didn't even know, that maybe the reason for collecting the bride's and groom's tears had been lost to history."

Roarke nodded. "I see. Keep eating, Leslie, before Mariki returns with that sangria."

She gave him a quick, wry smile and ate another bite before continuing. "Well, anyway, as time passed, Tellervo began gradually losing her grip on reality. I think the catalyst was Jaakko's death; you remember how Teppo kept saying she was different after that happened. It just got worse and worse with each passing year. It's not like she was senile, but every time Teppo's cousin brought Launo Haavisto over for dinner, she'd grill him minutely about the _Kalevala_ and Finnish mythology, as if she were studying for some thesis on the subject or something like that. She got especially interested in Lempo, undoubtedly because of Teppo's experience with him, and started doing a lot of walking in the woods herself.

"She'd come back in her own time, but her walks just got longer and longer. Then, about six weeks ago, she got lost, and not just the family but the police were out in full force, trying to find her. In the end, after at least two hours of searching, Teppo found her standing at the edge of a tiny, perfectly round clearing, full of mushrooms and saplings of dozens of different tree species. I was a few feet behind him and I saw everything." At this point she squeezed her eyes shut and shivered as if the temperature had suddenly dropped below freezing.

"Go on, child. It's all right," Roarke prompted gently.

"He told her to come out and said it was time to go home, but she just stood there and looked at him. Teppo lost his patience and started to cross the clearing to go after her, and…and…" Leslie stopped and jerked her head once or twice, as though trying to shake an insect off it. Grimacing and forcing the words out through clenched teeth, she managed, "I saw Lempo…materialize from thin air and…swoop down on Teppo…and he engulfed him in a fog…and…" Roarke watched her with increasing alarm as she fought to get the words out; she was beginning to turn greenish, and she had one hand at the base of her throat and the other arm wrapped around her abdomen. Leslie gulped loudly, rapidly, over and over until she had mastered the urge to be sick, and stared unseeingly at Roarke. Finally she said almost tonelessly, "Teppo never had a chance. The moment Lempo wrapped him in that mist, it was over. He was dead before he hit the ground. I stood there and screamed and screamed…I couldn't stop. I screamed so much my voice was hoarse for three days afterward."

Roarke stared at her, his mind spinning back five years, remembering Lempo's parting warning_. "…if he once more violates the birthplace, nothing will save him…not even you…"_ There was no question in his mind that Teppo had unknowingly done precisely that. Perhaps his mother, with her gradually unhinging mind, had tricked him into doing so; perhaps it had been a genuine accident. No one would ever know now. After all, Lempo had never specified the location of "the birthplace".

When Roarke came back to the here-and-now, he realized Leslie was crying again, hands over her face and body shaking. He would have reached out to comfort her, except that Mariki chose that precise moment to return with a pitcher of the scarlet concoction Leslie had requested. The cook stopped dead in her tracks and gawked at the scene, and Roarke had to hasten out of his chair and rescue the pitcher before it slipped out of her hand.

"Mr. Roarke, what on earth happened to the poor girl?" Mariki whispered, stunned.

"She returned home because she was very recently widowed," Roarke explained in low tones. "She suffered a severe shock, and she needs a chance to heal. I would appreciate your keeping this information to yourself." He gave her a look that she had no chance of misreading, and she nodded numbly.

"Not a word to a soul, Mr. Roarke, on my honor." Mariki shook her head sadly and turned back to the kitchen. Roarke returned to his daughter and stood beside her chair, rubbing her upper back in slow circles until she finally pulled herself together enough to lift her head.

Only then did Roarke resume his chair, watching her. "A terrible tragedy," he said softly. "You say this happened six weeks ago. What happened between that moment and your return here?"

"Chaos," she said succinctly. "Jaakko was gone, and now so was Teppo. The funeral was mostly a blank to me. I blacked out before the procession reached the gravesite and woke up in a hospital. Teppo's sister, Mielikki, was sitting by my bed, and she told me I had been unconscious for two days. I felt weak and drained of everything. Tellervo, it turned out, had completely lost her mind. It was Teppo's death that sent her over the edge, and now she's incoherent and doesn't recognize anyone." Something changed in Leslie's eyes and she ducked her head, staring at her folded hands in her lap. "Anyone except me, that is, and all she did was repeat 'Save my son' at me whenever she saw me. It was too much for me to take and I had to stop visiting her."

"Visiting her where?" Roarke asked.

"They put her in a sanitarium," Leslie said. "She was diagnosed with incurable madness, and in the wake of her being committed, Teppo's siblings turned against me. Mielikki was the only one who would still talk to me. I was staying with her and her husband and two children when I finally made up my mind to come home. I felt I was imposing on her and her family and didn't want to put them out anymore, and I couldn't take the hostility of Teppo's other brothers and sisters. I made a visit to Teppo's gravesite Wednesday; then I waited till 2 AM yesterday and sneaked out of Mielikki's house. I took the train to Helsinki and flew out on a 7 AM plane. It took me all day yesterday and all last night to finally get here."

"You left Teppo's sister without saying goodbye?" Roarke asked with a touch of reproach.

"I left a note," Leslie protested weakly. "I knew if I tried to leave in broad daylight, they'd try to keep me from going. I think they were afraid I might do myself bodily harm, because once Teppo was gone I didn't care about anything anymore. I used Teppo's and my savings to buy the necessary airfares, and I still had that blue pass you gave me just before we left five years ago."

Roarke considered this explanation for a moment and finally nodded. "All right, Leslie. As you said, there was nothing keeping you in Finland with Teppo gone, and after all is said and done, I believe you did right to come back here. But you will have to consider the possibility that Teppo's sister, at least, may feel there is unfinished business surrounding you and her brother, and try to contact you."

"I told her I had to go home," Leslie said, "and I explained why. I never did learn much of the language, and due partly to that, I don't think I ever quite fit in. I just think it was best for everyone that I left. Mielikki and her family won't feel obligated to take care of me, and Teppo's other siblings won't have to see me every time they visit her. I'm out of their way, and I'm in a place where I belong and I can be of some use, have some purpose to my life." She sighed and stared at the veranda ceiling for a moment or two, then focused on Roarke with a determined look in her eye. "I'm for changing the subject to something else entirely – such as the assistant you said you had to fire this morning."

The weariness returned to Roarke's demeanor then, and he shook his head to himself. "I am afraid I've reached the end of my proverbial rope. Julie refuses to take the job; she much prefers her own business, it seems. She has agreed to help out this weekend, but I can see that there is no longer any enjoyment in it for her."

Leslie mulled this over, wondering why on earth it was such a problem; were there so few competent candidates? It seemed like such a dream job, and it couldn't be all that complicated… At which point the idea exploded into her brain like a popped balloon, seeming to blink on and off in six-inch neon letters in some corner of her mind. It gave her no choice but to give it voice. "Mr. Roarke…what would you say if I applied for the job?"


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- August 10, 1990

It was quite plain that such a thought had never crossed Roarke's mind; he froze like a statue in the act of lifting a bite of beef Stroganoff and stared at her. This went on for a full ten seconds before he slowly lowered the fork, without ever taking his eyes off hers. Finally he said, "You, Leslie? Tell me, do you think you are up to it?"

"I don't see how you can refuse," she told him, feeling a sudden enthusiasm spring to life inside her. "You don't have an assistant right now, and you've been through more than a dozen since Tattoo left. I was secondary assistant for the last two years I was here and handled a lot of odds and ends for you in the three years before that, around my school hours. I know this island, I've seen you grant hundreds of fantasies, I've even helped out with a few of them. Everybody knows me and I know them. I love this place and I can't think of living anywhere else." She leaned forward across her forgotten plate. "I'll fill out an application form or whatever other formalities I have to go through, but please, Mr. Roarke, give me a chance."

Roarke saw, for the first time since she'd arrived that morning, an excited light gleaming in her eyes. Her face had acquired a touch of color and there was hope in her expression. This could be exactly what she needed to help her regain emotional stability after the horrors she had endured in the past month or so. And, after all, she did indeed have prior experience. Her being his daughter could be an advantage; unlike many of the other young women he had seen try the job and fail, she wouldn't be distracted by a silly crush on her boss. If anyone were to charge nepotism, Leslie had enough experience and knowledge that such a charge could be easily refuted.

He smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand. "All right, Leslie," he said, "this weekend will be your trial run. I'll tell Julie that she will be needed only in a secondary capacity, and we'll see how well you perform. On Monday morning I'll make the final decision."

He was rewarded by a genuinely delighted grin. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke…I can't wait to start!"

"There is, however, one prerequisite to your beginning the job," Roarke said, pointing at her plate. "Finish eating. You need something in your stomach, and you definitely must get a good night's rest. All right?"

She chuckled. "I think I can manage that." And with that, she began to tuck into her meal at last. Roarke watched her from time to time, keeping a benevolent eye on her, but he was glad she had come up with the idea. It would solve both her problems and his quite nicely.

±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±

The plane vanished into the sky and Roarke turned to Leslie with a broad smile. "You performed admirably this weekend, Leslie. Don't you think so, Julie?"

Julie nodded. "Absolutely, uncle. It's like she never left. For heaven's sake, give her the job already, so you can quit hiring incompetent assistants and I can stop wondering whether I have to fill in again next weekend."

"I'm so sorry you found it such a trial, Julie," Roarke said overly sweetly, giving his thirty-year-old goddaughter a pointed look that made her shrug, grin and blush simultaneously. He raised an eyebrow at her before turning to Leslie. "Congratulations, my daughter, the job is yours."

Leslie lit up. "Oh, that's great! Thank you, _thank_ you!" She hugged him hard. "I promise I'll be the best assistant I can possibly be. Maybe I'll even outdo Lawrence."

"Not Tattoo?" Julie teased her.

"I could never outdo Tattoo," Leslie said, taking her seriously. "Tattoo's one of a kind. I'm just going to do the very best I can. One thing's for sure – Mr. Roarke won't have to replace me in a couple of months. Not if I can help it, anyway." She tacked on this last phrase in a sudden fit of self-deprecation, glancing a bit sheepishly at Roarke.

"You'll be just fine," he told her and smiled. "Now, suppose we get back to the house and begin preparations for next weekend's fantasies."

"Off to the salt mines again," Julie wisecracked. "I just hired a new maid and she's still on probation. If I don't keep an eye on her, who knows what time my rooms'll be ready." She waved at them and hopped into her jeep, a ten-year-old model she had bought from Roarke when he replaced his fleet of vehicles with newer ones that had the same crimson paint and candy-striped canopy tops as the originals. Roarke and Leslie got into one of these now and returned to the main house, where they settled down to their respective tasks.

In her new role as Roarke's assistant, Leslie was kept too busy to dwell for very long on thoughts of the husband she sorely missed. The dark circles beneath her eyes disappeared and she looked healthier; Mariki all but stood over her at meals for the first few days, until Leslie told her to find someone else to feed and kindly let her be. Mariki blustered, but Roarke backed Leslie up, and the cook finally gave in.

On Wednesday evening, August 15, the pace slowed enough that Leslie had some free time at her disposal, and she used it to finally unpack her bags and fully settle back into her familiar dormer bedroom. She was standing in the middle of the room holding a wooden frame, gazing critically at the walls, when Roarke paused in the doorway.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

She turned with a start and then relaxed at sight of him. "Actually, I was thinking how tired I am of yellow walls," she said, her gaze straying around the sunshine-hued room. "Sky blue might be just what this room needs. It's so much more restful."

Roarke smiled. "Perhaps your friends can help you decide," he offered, and stepped aside to allow four familiar faces to crowd into the doorway. Leslie gasped, recognizing Camille Ichino, Lauren McCormick, Myeko Sensei and Maureen Tomai.

"How did you guys know I was home?" she cried happily. "It's so great to see you again!"

"Hi, Leslie!" they chorused and surrounded her, hugging her and laughing, bringing a sparkle to Leslie's eyes that Roarke was truly gratified to see. He left the five friends chattering a mile a second and retreated downstairs.

The girls scattered around the room, sitting on the floor, the bed, the window seat or the rocking chair, updating Leslie on their lives. Camille was married with an infant son; Maureen, still single, continued to work for her mother's catering service and had her own small apartment. Lauren, also single, had an office job that required her to commute via ferry to Coral Island; and Myeko had recently gotten engaged to Michiko's older brother, Hachiro "Toki" Tokita.

"Speaking of Michiko, where's she?" Leslie asked.

"Trying to get her big break as a singer," Maureen said. "She's in New York City right now, and every time one of us talks to her, we keep reminding her not to get herself mugged." The girls all laughed, then shifted the focus to Leslie. "So," Maureen continued, "what's that picture you're hanging onto for dear life?"

Leslie's mood faded into gray as she tilted the frame back and stared at the photo inside for a moment. "It was the last thing I packed before I left Tampere," she said softly. "I thought I needed to get away from everything, but I just couldn't leave this." She turned the frame around to display to her friends the formal wedding portrait that she and Teppo had had taken the first week after arriving in Tampere.

As one, Leslie's friends inhaled sharply, staring at the picture. "I forgot how gorgeous he was," Camille said and peered at Leslie. "Hey, don't tell me you're going to cry now. I mean, I know you'll never forget him, but you're home now, and you're Mr. Roarke's assistant. Time to move forward. I bet he'd want you to do that too."

Lauren shot her cousin a stern glare, but Leslie only smiled faintly. Camille wasn't as abrasive and prickly as she had once been; rather, these traits had mellowed after a fashion, into a straightforwardness that could sometimes be painfully blunt.

"You look different," Lauren ventured after a short but awkward silence. "I mean, the changes are good. You got all that hair cut off." Leslie's hair had fallen three-quarters of the way to her waist when she'd married Teppo; now it was an inch or two past shoulder length, but still dark gold with reddish highlights and ruler-straight.

"Easier to take care of," Leslie said, turning the portrait back around to face her. Myeko got to her feet and surveyed the walls, then removed the frame from Leslie's hands and held it up to the wall just left of the window seat where Leslie sat.

"You should hang this right here," Myeko said firmly. "It looks just right in this spot. I'm glad you didn't leave this in Finland. It's such a beautiful picture and a great way to remember him."

For a moment the room was still; then Leslie slid out of the window and hugged her friend. "I think you're right," she said, her voice thickening with emotion. "Thanks for saying that." The others gathered around and shared a moment of comfort for Leslie; then someone giggled nervously and broke the tension.

Leslie took the cue. "Listen, you guys could help me paint in here," she said. "This room needs a makeover, and I think sky blue would be perfect for these walls, don't you?"

"Does Mr. Roarke know you're redecorating his house?" Lauren bantered, and everyone laughed. Downstairs, Roarke heard the merriment and smiled to himself. Leslie's friends would help her work her way through her grief.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- August 18, 1990

For the very first time as Roarke's official, full-fledged assistant, Leslie Hamilton Komainen stepped out onto the veranda, decked out in an updated version of the white dress she used to wear as a teenager. The skirt ended just above her knees; the sleeves were three-quarter-length, and her collar was Chinese-style. The collar and cuffs were black; at the waist, she wore a thin black belt; and there was a small white button on the collar, echoed by three matching black ones just beneath. Her shoes had a low heel and were also black. Her only jewelry was her wedding ring; Roarke had told her that it might afford her some extra protection from amorous male guests, relating a couple of anecdotes about previous assistants being repeatedly hit on by determined men in order to illustrate the point.

Leslie found herself grinning inanely as she crossed the porch and paused beside the post that had been installed for Lawrence so long ago, pressing the button to ring the bell in the tower. In prompt response, the native girls who lined the landing ramp streamed down the path they always took to the plane dock; Leslie herself trotted back across the porch and met Roarke at the bottom of the steps, where they exchanged morning greetings. Roarke hesitated for a moment and peered a little more closely at Leslie, who still wore a huge, silly grin. A smile began to bloom on his own face in response.

"You certainly look happy," he observed with classic understatement.

"I'm delirious!" Leslie sang out, giggling. "Honestly, Mr. Roarke, I feel like I've just inhaled an entire tank of helium. Let's hurry and get started!"

Laughing, they walked to the car that had just pulled up and got inside. In about five minutes they had reached the dock, where girls bearing leis or trays of drinks were gathering, and the band was positioning itself. The ritual was still precisely the same. Leslie stood beside her adoptive father in the same spot Tattoo had always occupied, watching as he called out, "Smiles, everyone, smiles!" and gestured for the band to begin playing. Leslie tapped her foot to the welcoming song; Roarke still changed it every fall, but she hadn't heard this one before and decided she liked it. Maybe she could talk him into keeping it for another year.

The first guests, a bright-faced young couple, emerged from the plane and ran the gauntlet of leis and drinks. Roarke smiled. "Mr. Ace Wilkerson and his wife Lisa, from Golden, Colorado."

"They're quite young," Leslie said. "Are they newlyweds, or what?"

"They are, actually," Roarke said, "but Mrs. Wilkerson has a fantasy, and her husband decided to give her a trip here to Fantasy Island as his wedding gift to her."

"That's sweet," Leslie remarked, trying to suppress memories of hers and Teppo's wedding. A swift shadow crossed her face and Roarke noticed, of course, but let it pass without comment. "So just what _is_ her fantasy? To find out if the marriage will be successful?"

Roarke gave her a pleasantly surprised look. "An excellent guess, Leslie! That's precisely it. Lisa Wilkerson's own parents have been divorced for many years, and the parents of most of her friends are divorced as well. She says that divorce seems to be the fate of every marriage she has ever known about; so she has requested glimpses into the future to gain some idea of what her marriage will be like, and try to take steps to change things if they seem unfavorable."

"I hope she can beat the odds," Leslie said. "It's definitely an interesting fantasy." She shifted her attention to a bookish-looking fellow with John Lennon glasses and a headful of curly chocolate-colored hair. "This guy looks like a lifetime student."

Roarke chuckled. "Not quite. This is Arthur Laursen, from Grand Forks, North Dakota, and he is a devotee of the old 'Frankenstein' films with Boris Karloff."

"I can see where this one is going," Leslie said. "He wants to emulate the mad doctor and try to raise someone from the dead."

"Almost." Roarke chuckled again. "Your guesses are turning out to be rather good this morning. Mr. Laursen does indeed want to act out such a scene for the weekend – but as the assistant, Igor, rather than the doctor himself." The amusement faded from his features and he studied Arthur Laursen with slightly narrowed eyes. "He may find that even being on the sidelines can get him into more trouble than he quite expected."

Leslie turned to eye him with concern, but she knew better than to ask any questions, because right on cue, one of the native girls delivered Roarke's drink. He raised it to their guests and announced as always, "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!" And she smiled, taking comfort in the familiarity of being home again.

±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±

An hour later, Roarke and Leslie stopped at the Lilac Bungalow to pick up Arthur Laursen. Leslie sat in front with the driver, and Laursen clambered into the middle seat beside Roarke. "This is gonna be great," Laursen blurted, eyes shining with anticipation behind his round lenses. "I've loved those old Frankenstein movies ever since I was a little kid. I dressed up as Igor or the monster every Halloween. Every time one of them played on TV, I begged my parents to let me stay up and watch. Once I got a VCR and they started coming out on video, I scoured every video store in Grand Forks trying to collect all the films."

"You certainly are quite the devotee," Roarke commented.

"Oh, absolutely. I've been saving money for this fantasy for three years, and I still can't quite believe it's finally happening. So where exactly are we going?"

"To a remote chateau," Roarke replied. "For a great many years it was inhabited by the silent-film star Claude Duncan." Laursen nodded in recognition. "After Mr. Duncan passed away nearly ten years ago, the chateau fell into disuse, and the natives in the area began to claim it was haunted. Some have even suggested that there is a body in the dungeon, just waiting to be resuscitated by an ambitious successor to Dr. Frankenstein."

"I assume that means there actually is a Dr. Frankenstein type in there who needs an assistant," Laursen said with a broad grin. "I guess in that case, all I need to do is walk in and find him."

By now the car was winding up a one-lane drive; they came to a halt in front of a beige-stucco wall broken only by an eight-foot-high iron fence with a gate in its middle. Through the fence they could see part of a brick-paved courtyard and a small fountain with an ominous-looking statue in the middle. Roarke, Leslie and Laursen got out of the car and paused in front of the gate. "This will be your home for the next two days, Mr. Laursen," Roarke said.

Laursen was staring at the fountain. "Weird-looking statue."

"A relic of the days when Claude Duncan lived here," Roarke said dismissively, but Laursen didn't take the hint.

"Does it have anything to do with my fantasy?" he persisted.

"No, not directly," Leslie put in then, "unless you believe in omens. Claude Duncan died trying to fulfill a promise to the Greek god Pan so that he could remain young and alive forever. That's Pan's statue in the fountain. So in a way, since Duncan was trying to prevent his own death and you're looking to help raise a body from the dead, this is the perfect place to experience your fantasy."

"Wow," Laursen said, properly impressed. "Well, then, what're we waiting for?"

Roarke took a key from his jacket pocket and inserted it in the padlock that had been installed on the gate after Duncan's death to keep out looters and the overly curious. "I shall lock this gate behind you, Mr. Laursen. As I said, the chateau has been empty for years, so there is no telephone or any other way to contact the outside world. You will be completely cut off from civilization for a full forty-eight hours. Do you still wish to go through with your fantasy?"

Laursen looked incredulous. "After three years of saving and planning? No way am I backing out now. Let me in, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke looked at Leslie, long enough to catch her soft huff of amusement, and smiled fleetingly in her direction before nodding briskly at Laursen. "Very well." With that, he turned the key in the lock, and the device snapped open. The iron gate swung inward with a creak, and Laursen stepped through, grinning again.

"Geronimo!" he exclaimed and galloped across the courtyard, vanishing from their view. Roarke pulled the gate shut and locked it again, then shared an "oh, well" look with his daughter before they got back into the car and it pulled away down the driveway.

Laursen found himself in front of a huge double wooden door outfitted with lion's-head knockers that had been painted black. He almost lifted one hand to bang the ring on one of them before thinking twice and giving an experimental push. Sure enough, the tall, heavy door retreated inward, and he ducked eagerly inside and strode down the hallway with its twenty-foot ceilings, never noticing that the door slid closed behind him all by itself.

Dropping his bag beside a small wooden table, he stopped long enough to get his bearings and take a good look around. Back towards the door through which he'd just come, there was a majestic flight of curving stairs; an enormous, ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling. On either side of the hallway there were three doors leading who-knew-where. He pushed one open and peered into it, but saw only pitch blackness on the other side.

"Time to explore, Art," he told himself cheerfully and dug a large flashlight out of his bag, clicking it on and poking it through the open doorway. The powerful beam revealed a flight of steep stone steps that curved out of sight to the right. Without hesitation, Laursen started down the stairs, playing the flashlight beam all over the walls, ceiling and stairs. He counted thirty steps before reaching the bottom, where he slowly swept his surroundings with his light. He hadn't gotten very far when the beam caught a light switch on the wall, and with a grin he flipped it up.

Hanging fluorescent lights popped on in response, humming in the silent room. Beneath them, to Laursen's wide-eyed delight, stood a huge oaken table draped with a sheet – and atop the sheet lay the body of a surprisingly young man. "Whoooooooa," Laursen breathed, awestruck.

"What are you doing here?" a voice asked suddenly.

Laursen whipped around so fast his glasses flew off his nose, and he had to drop to the floor and hunt for them. "Blast it, I can't see," he complained, patting the floor around him and squinting.

"Here." A hand appeared in front of his face, clutching his glasses. He grabbed them, put them on and stood up again, staring in disbelief at the woman who stood in front of him. She was graying and had an unsettlingly wild look in her eyes. Laursen scowled, perplexed. A female Dr. Frankenstein? Was this Roarke's idea of a joke?

"Thank you," he finally remembered his manners. "Who're you?"

The woman smiled and gestured at the body on the table. "You're here to help me raise him from the dead, aren't you?"

Laursen remembered his fantasy then and grinned widely at her. "You bet, doc! When do we start?"

The woman's gaze strayed to the body and she scowled, a sight that for some reason made Laursen's stomach roll over. "There is a key ingredient missing," she said, "and we can do nothing without it." She studied Laursen thoughtfully. "Tell me what you know about DNA."

"Uh…everybody's got it," Laursen said, scratching his head. "And no two persons' DNA is alike, unless maybe you're identical twins or something. I dunno, that's about all I can tell you. I'm just here to fill the role of Igor."

"Oh, you'll do that nicely," the woman said with a peculiar little smile, scrutinizing him a little too closely for his comfort. "Very nicely."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- August 18, 1990

When Roarke and Leslie got back from the old Duncan chateau, Roarke left again almost immediately to see to the Wilkersons' fantasy, leaving Leslie in the main house going through the day's mail. It was nearly lunchtime before he returned, a thoughtful look in his dark eyes.

"Anything interesting with the Wilkersons?" Leslie asked conversationally over the meal.

"Lisa Wilkerson thinks things look promising so far," Roarke said, "but she is concerned that I have shown her the first window five years into their married future, and there are no children. It's not terribly unusual for couples to wait longer than that to start a family."

"No," Leslie murmured, yet another memory surfacing. She and Teppo had just celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary when he was killed. She squeezed her eyes shut, annoyed with herself and upset by the remembrance, and looked plaintively at Roarke. "When will everything stop reminding me of Teppo?"

Roarke's expression grew sympathetic and he covered her hand with his. "It takes time, Leslie," he said. "Time is the only proven healer, I am afraid. It eventually mellows everything, but a great deal of patience is required." He patted her hand and gestured to her plate. "I realize that both Mariki and I tend to sound like broken records, but at the risk of being repetitious – and therefore annoying – I say again, eat."

"You're both turning into a couple of nags," Leslie teased, but she did as requested. They each had fruit for dessert, and Leslie was still enjoying an apple when Mariki came to clear the table and shooed them away. They indulged her and retreated into the office, where over the course of a couple of hours or so, they dealt with the requests and inquiries of various guests.

Then, during a lull, Roarke checked his gold pocket watch before looking thoughtfully at Leslie. "I have some time before I must attend to the Wilkerson fantasy again," he remarked. "Perhaps you'd care to check up on the Laursen fantasy?"

"Sure." Leslie began to reach into the gold box on Roarke's desk for a set of keys, but he stayed her hand, shaking his head, a mysterious smile on his face.

"No, we won't take a car," he said. "Since you are now my assistant, it's time you learned a few of the tricks of the trade. And one of those involves monitoring the progress of a fantasy from time to time. Believe me, it saves quite a bit of travel time."

Leslie's mouth fell open and her eyes went wide; then wonder and excitement dawned over her face. "You're going to show me how to…uh, 'pop' in and out of a fantasy?"

Roarke chuckled at her reaction. "That I am," he said. "You'll recall that Tattoo did it on a fairly regular basis, particularly during the busier weekends, and even Lawrence consented to doing it occasionally. I don't think you'll have any trouble. Now, come into this room." They got up and Roarke led her to the doorway of the small room just beside the foot of the stairs, which was often used as a launching point for fantasies, especially those involving time travel. They stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind them.

About five seconds later the phone started to ring, but it played to an empty room. It rang ten times before finally falling silent in the middle of the eleventh peal.

±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±

Arthur Laursen took a couple of nervous steps back from his odd Dr. Frankenstein, keeping a wary eye on her. "Look, lady, I don't think you get the picture. This is supposed to be just a fantasy, you know. You're getting a little too serious here."

She shook her head, chuckling almost too low to be heard, sauntering at leisure in the direction of the table that bore the body. "I'm afraid you're the one who doesn't understand, my dear fellow. This is no fantasy." She turned then and pinned him with a malevolent glare that set off warning bells in his brain. "You were all too eager to begin just a moment ago. If you don't want to help me, then you may as well leave. I have no use for spineless cowards."

"Oh, gimme a break," Laursen snapped, his ire piqued. "If I were really that big a coward, I wouldn't be standing in a dungeon with a dead body and a nutcase."

What happened next was completely unexpected. The woman shrieked in rage and rushed him, slamming him back against the wall before he could recover enough from his surprise to evade her. "Don't insult me like that again!" she hissed at him. "Stay or leave, it's all the same to me, but I _will_ bring him back to life." As suddenly as she had attacked, she released Laursen and went to the table, stroking the face of the man lying thereon before finding another sheet and draping it over the body with loving care.

"Geez," Laursen muttered to himself. "Tell you what, lady, let me think it over." Without waiting for a reply from her, he started back up the curving stone staircase, barely aware that the lights went out behind him. He was just going to have to find some way to contact Roarke so he could complain. Something about this fantasy just didn't feel right.

He spent the rest of the morning exploring other parts of the chateau, moving quietly for fear the weirdo in the cellar would come charging up demanding to know what he was doing. At some point he found the kitchen, which someone (probably Roarke, he supposed) had stocked with enough food for a couple of days. He wondered briefly if the madwoman had her own stash, or even bothered to eat at all. Laursen made a sandwich and ate in the kitchen, knocking back a glass of water and opening a box of cookies. He took two with him to eat while he trotted up the grand staircase from the entry and poked around the upstairs rooms.

In one of the rooms he found a movie projector and a screen mounted on the opposite wall, items that had belonged to the previous occupant, and was thrilled to find a Frankenstein picture among the reel-to-reel films in the collection. He spent a very enjoyable couple of hours watching the movie and reminding himself just why he had come here in the first place. By the time the film had ended, he was again full of the enthusiasm he'd felt when he arrived.

Laursen threaded the filmstrip back onto its original reel and set the machine to rewind the movie, then turned around and blinked. "I thought this place was cut off from civilization," he said questioningly to Leslie, who stood in the doorway watching him.

"It is," she assured him. "Just thought I'd drop in and see how your fantasy's turning out."

"Well, I don't know," Laursen said doubtfully. "There's a dungeon all right, along with loads of machinery and chemistry sets, and there's even a body to bring back to life. But I gotta tell you, Mr. Roarke sure has an odd idea of who Dr. Frankenstein's supposed to be."

"How's that?" Leslie asked, tipping her head to one side in puzzlement.

"It's a woman," Laursen informed her. "And a crazy one at that. I'm starting to have second thoughts about going through with all this."

"This was your fantasy," Leslie reminded him gently, "and from everything you've said, you never expected to work with the original Dr. Frankenstein anyway. If my memory's right, on the way here you referred to 'a Dr. Frankenstein _type'_ who might be inhabiting this place. Right?"

Laursen thought back over his trip to the chateau and sighed. "Okay, I guess you've got a point," he conceded. "But I tell you, it's really weird. She gives me the creeps actually. I've been thinking twice about working with her."

"Enough to terminate the fantasy you saved for three years to experience?" she asked with a tiny smile of amusement. Laursen noticed and turned red.

"Well…maybe not that much," he finally muttered, and she chuckled. "But I'm not kidding, Leslie. She's taking it all way too seriously, if you ask me. And she has this look in her eyes, like any minute she's gonna bludgeon you to death."

"And then she'd have to bring you back to life," Leslie kidded, sighing softly in resignation when all she got was a blank stare. "You do look a little spooked, Mr. Laursen. Do you want me to have Mr. Roarke look into it?"

He thought it over for a long moment, then shrugged. "No, I guess not. I mean, you're right…this is my fantasy, and I did ask for it, after all. I guess I'll just have to take it as part of the vagaries of living out my wildest dream."

"That's a good attitude," she agreed. "Enjoy yourself, then." She backed up a step and disappeared around the doorway.

"Hey, wait a minute, I was gonna ask—" As he spoke, Laursen ran out into the hall, only to cut himself off when he realized Leslie was nowhere in sight. He glanced back and forth several times, wondering how she could have vanished so quickly, then shrugged and decided to get his bag and pick out a room to sleep in for the night.

Halfway down the huge entry hall, the woman from the dungeon stepped out of the cellar door directly in front of him. "Whoa!" he blurted, barely managing not to collide with her. "Holy cow, lady, you oughta look where you're going."

She fixed him with an intense stare that seemed to paralyze him in spite of himself. He stood and gaped back at her, trapped in her gaze, while she spoke in a quiet, menacing monotone. "It's time for you to begin doing your job, Igor, my friend. And I have a very important task for you." And she explained what she wanted from him in a hypnotic drone, while the helpless Laursen fell deeper and deeper under the spell she wove. "It's vital that you do this," she concluded at last. "Do you understand?"

Arthur Laursen seemed not to exist any longer. Anyone witnessing this scene would have heard Igor's voice emerge from his mouth as he intoned, "Yes, master…anything you say."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- August 19, 1990

Something woke Leslie from a sound sleep and she sat up in bed, listening. After a few moments there was a rumble of distant thunder, and she frowned. She had never liked thunderstorms and had always been glad they were relatively rare on Fantasy Island. She slipped out of bed and lifted the window shade to see if there was any sign of impending sunrise; she could see that the eastern horizon was turning gray, but that was all. The clock said four-thirty.

She was debating what to do next when the hallway light went on, making her squint, and Roarke looked in on her. "The storm must have awakened you," he said.

"How did you know, in your sleep?" she asked, but he only smiled. _Should have known better than to ask,_ she reflected with inward amusement, and turned her mind to another subject. "I don't know if it was necessarily the storm that woke me, but I have this odd feeling that I should do another checkup on Arthur Laursen's fantasy."

"At this hour?" Roarke asked, clearly surprised.

"I can't explain it," Leslie said. "I just have this feeling, that's all. Did I tell you what he said when I looked in on him yesterday afternoon?" She summarized Laursen's description of what he had found in the chateau, and Roarke raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed?" he said. "There was in fact supposed to be a Frankensteinian scientist at the chateau, but I had no idea it would be a woman."

"Oh, come on," Leslie protested skeptically.

Roarke shook his head. "No, my dear Leslie, you know better than anyone else that once a fantasy is under way, even I can no longer control its direction." He thought for a moment, then focused on her. "I think you're right, Leslie, it may very well be a wise idea to make sure Mr. Laursen's fantasy is progressing smoothly. But don't stay too long. I want you back here for breakfast."

"You're still nagging," Leslie said with a smile. "I don't think Mariki will be satisfied until I have the girth of an elephant, but I'm not sure why _you're_ so concerned that I eat. You're with me at every meal, and you've seen me clear my plate every time."

Roarke smiled back at her. "Perhaps I am being a little overprotective, but it's only a father's concern for his child." He glanced at the digital clock beside her bed. "Why don't you get dressed, and I'll help you when you're ready."

Fifteen minutes later she was at the chateau knocking on the door of one of the bedrooms, but there was no response. A trickle of apprehension began to worm its way up her spine as she trotted down to the entry hall, where one of the doors stood partially open. A very faint light emanated through the opening. Cautiously she eased toward it, only to leap back with a startled gasp when Arthur Laursen stuck his head through.

"Oh, it's you!" he exclaimed. "You're up awfully early."

"I could say the same about you," she returned. "I suppose exciting things are going on downstairs."

"They sure are," he beamed cheerfully. "Want to come and see?" He didn't bother waiting for her reply, but grabbed her hand and tugged her along with him down the steep steps.

"Do I have a choice?" Leslie inquired wryly, but the guest didn't seem to hear her. He moved at a pace that unnerved her; she would much rather have taken each step as quietly as possible. Her apprehension was beginning to graduate into acute nervousness, and she wished Roarke were with her.

At the bottom of the steps Laursen flipped a switch and the huge room was flooded with fluorescent light. Leslie blinked and squinted again in the harsh illumination, trying to get her bearings and adjust her vision. After a minute or so, she realized she was standing in a surprisingly faithful, if updated, version of the classic laboratory room used by Frankenstein and Igor to create life. She noted a sheet-draped body on a massive oaken table and glanced away with a shudder. "I'd say you got your fantasy all right," she mumbled, ostensibly at Laursen; in any case, he was close enough to hear.

But when she got no reply, she turned to look at him and felt her stomach go light at the odd, trancelike expression he wore. Before she could do or say anything else, he called out in a very Igor-like voice, "Master, I've done as you ordered!"

"Good," purred a low-pitched female voice, drawing the word out with ominous pleasure. "Take her to the table."

Laursen stepped behind Leslie and pushed her forward so that she had little choice but to approach the table. She resisted when they got within a foot and planted her feet where she was, refusing to go any farther. "Afraid? Surely not," the feminine voice taunted. This time its tone was an octave higher than when Leslie had first heard it, and something about it triggered recognition in her brain. She didn't dare move. _Please let me be wrong,_ she thought frantically.

"Surely you didn't believe you'd ever get away?" the voice continued silkily. "How many times did I beg you to save him? How many times did you ignore me? Then you never returned, and I knew I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. Now you'll listen to me, and you'll do exactly as I tell you." The woman stepped up beside Leslie and smiled a very nasty little smile at her.

The initial shock had barely registered in Leslie's brain when the woman reached out and flipped the sheet back from the body on the table. Inexorably Leslie's attention was drawn to the face of the deceased. This second, much greater shock was more than she could handle, and she collapsed at Arthur Laursen's feet.

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Roarke waited until five minutes to eight before going out to the veranda for breakfast. Mariki was already there, briskly setting the table. "Omelets and mixed fruit this morning, Mr. Roarke," she said. "What will you have to drink?"

"Orange juice will be fine, Mariki," Roarke replied. "Leslie should be here any minute, so you need not wait for her arrival."

Mariki sighed. "I know, I know. She's had enough of my concern for her, is that it? And here I only want to be sure she's eating enough to stay healthy. Your daughter can be frightfully stubborn, Mr. Roarke, but then again, I'm sure you're perfectly aware of that." She placed two large covered dishes on the table and then wheeled her serving cart away with a put-upon air.

Smiling in wry amusement, Roarke settled into his usual chair and relaxed for a moment, taking in the warm tropical morning and listening to the birdsong. Nearby a mourning dove sang its plaintive tune, and some obscure memory suddenly surfaced in his head, transporting him to another time and place. Eventually the mourning dove flew away and Roarke came back to the present, only to find that he was still alone at the table. Frowning, he checked his pocket watch and saw that Leslie was ten minutes late for the meal. She had been gone for quite some time, and he wondered if she were having trouble returning. Perhaps he'd better see if she needed help.

"Mariki," he called sharply, and a moment later the cook scuttled onto the porch. "It appears that there will be a slight delay in the morning meal. I would appreciate it very much if you would keep the food warm. Leslie may need some help. We'll try to return as soon as we can."

"All right, Mr. Roarke," Mariki said and began to clear the food from the table. Roarke turned and hastened back into the main house, just in time to catch the phone ringing. He paused at the desk and picked it up with a terse greeting.

"Is this Mr. Roarke?" an accented voice asked. "You haven't met me, sir, but my name is Mielikki Salmi. I'm Teppo Komainen's sister. I have been trying to phone you all weekend."

"Yes, Mrs. Salmi, what can I do for you?" Roarke inquired courteously.

"I don't know if you can help, but we've tried everything else with no results. I'm sure Leslie told you that my mother has recently been committed to an insane asylum. At the time, she was quite mad, and we were sure there was no hope for her. But she must have regained some slight measure of sanity somehow, because she's escaped from the institution and disappeared. And what's worse…" Mielikki Salmi's voice faltered, and when it came back it was shaky and tinged with revulsion. "My brother's grave has been violated, and Teppo's body is gone."

Roarke was so stunned by this revelation that for a moment he could only gape at the wall across from him. Something instinctive told him that this was connected with Leslie in some way. He remembered the morning little more than a week before when she had told him that Tellervo Komainen had recognized only her, and had repeated the phrase "Save my son" at her. That was the key: suddenly he knew exactly why Leslie had not shown up for breakfast.

"Mrs. Salmi, I believe it is imperative that you and your husband, and any siblings who can do so, make the journey to Fantasy Island as quickly as you can." He gave her quick instructions on how to reach the island. "I will arrange to have blue passes waiting for you at the gate for the charter plane. I have reason to believe that your mother is here on the island along with your brother's body."

On the other end he heard exclamations in Finnish and then Mielikki's voice thanking him and assuring him they would be on the island the next day. "But…just tell me one thing," she pleaded. "How is Leslie coping?"

"I suspect she will suffer a serious setback," Roarke told her grimly. "I will explain it all when you arrive. But you must hurry."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- August 19, 1990

Jolted out of his trance by Leslie's faint, Arthur Laursen stared stupidly at the young woman lying in a senseless heap before him. His head snapped up when the older woman spoke in a disgusted tone. "Foolish, weak girl. How my son could have ever chosen her…"

Laursen made a split-second decision to play along with the woman for the moment, until either help arrived or he himself could find some way to get himself and Leslie out of this place. "You know her, master?" he queried in his Igor voice, perfected after countless childhood Halloweens of portraying the character.

"She was my daughter-in-law," the woman said. "She has the key to bringing my beloved Teppo back to life." She reached out and caressed the dead man's cheek, as if she expected to feel life and warmth beneath it; then she turned sharply to Laursen. "But she is no use to me lying there like a pile of rubbish. Take her to that chair and tie her in it so she doesn't fall out, and stay by her side in case she awakens." She pointed to the corner, where a chair that apparently belonged with the table stood.

"Yes, master," Laursen replied and gathered the unconscious Leslie into his arms. He found a length of twine on a counter and, holding Leslie seated upright, began to wrap it around her, feeling all the while that he'd walked into a heck of a lot more than he had expected from this fantasy. Who exactly was this woman, anyway, and what kind of name was "Teppo"? He hoped Leslie would come to soon so that he could get some answers and try to come up with a plan.

Outside there was an enormous crash of thunder, as if the storm that had been threatening for the last few hours had finally broken. To Laursen, it was fitting, if utterly clichéd. He had no way of knowing, or even judging, the time, since there were no windows in the room. For awhile his "master" paced the floor, now and then pausing to smooth the dead man's hair or run a finger along his cheek. Laursen peered curiously at the body, which was oddly well preserved, and wondered how long the young man had been dead.

It wasn't long before the woman's patience ran out and she stalked over to the corner where Laursen stood guarding Leslie. "Enough waiting," the woman snarled, and with that she delivered a ringing smack across Leslie's face. The younger woman's head snapped aside but she wasn't roused, and Laursen winced when the second blow yanked Leslie's head the other way.

Unable to watch any more of this, he suggested, "Master, some water might work."

She seemed to consider this, then nodded and picked up a full beaker from a nearby workbench. This, she proceeded to upend over Leslie's head. The contents gushed out like a waterfall, cutting off Leslie's breath for a moment or two. It was long enough to bring her back to consciousness, and she shook her head in an attempt to avoid the cascade.

Laursen had to force himself to stand and watch in silence while the older woman knelt and grasped Leslie's chin in a painful calipers pinch between her thumb and forefinger. "Look at me!" she hissed when Leslie's eyes finally opened. "Where is that vial?"

Leslie, still groggy, slowly registered the identity of the graying woman who glared into her eyes. "What?" she muttered, trying to make sense out of the situation.

"Wake up, you little fool," the elder woman snapped, in a boiling temper. Without warning she slapped Leslie again, hard. Leslie sat gasping through her clenched teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain. When she dared open her eyes again, her attacker was still there.

"You were…" Leslie began, clearly mindful of Laursen standing nearby. "How did you get out?"

"Are you truly that stupid?" the other demanded. "I've waited long enough, Leslie. I came here with Teppo to find you, because you're going to help me resuscitate him. You were there and you saw him die, and you did nothing to help him. I'll never forgive you." Leslie's face had gone pure white, and Laursen leaned down to peer at her in fascination. She was so pale he thought she might faint again, but she only stared at the older woman in motionless horror.

"_You brought Teppo here?"_ she whispered at last, unable to quite grasp the idea.

"See for yourself, foolish girl." She straightened and snapped at Laursen, "Untie her, Igor. It's time she saw what she has done to my son." She stalked away in disgust, going over to lean across the dead man and talk to him as if he were merely sleeping. She spoke in a strange language that Laursen couldn't make head or tail of.

He crouched next to Leslie as he unwound the twine. "Who the hell is she?" he asked.

"Her name is Tellervo Komainen, and she was my mother-in-law," Leslie replied, pain glinting from her eyes as she spoke. "The man on the table is her son and my late husband, Teppo. They're from Finland. Tellervo is insane, and she was in a sanitarium in Finland when I left there. She was in a completely different mental state then…babbling nonsense all the time and unable to recognize her own children." Leslie's still-stunned gaze drifted over to Tellervo and Teppo, the former crooning to the latter. "My God, she must have exhumed Teppo."

Laursen gawked at the pair in horror. "Holy sh…" he began, then cut himself off out of an archaic sense of chivalry towards Leslie. "Christ on a crutch, the woman really _is_ nuts."

Tellervo's spine snapped up straight and she whipped around to glare at Laursen and Leslie. "Igor! Hurry up and bring that girl over here, now!"

"Sorry," Laursen whispered at Leslie before prodding her to her feet and marching her over to the table. As soon as they reached the table, Tellervo seized Leslie's arm and shook her. Leslie winced in pain but made no sound.

"Give me the vial," Tellervo demanded. "You have it, and I need it!"

Leslie tried to yank her arm free of Tellervo's grip, but was unable to. "What are you talking about?"

Tellervo's glare blazed and she raised her hand; Leslie ducked the blow this time, but in response, Tellervo grabbed her other arm and began to shake her hard. _"Give me the vial!!"_ she screamed. _"GIVE IT TO ME!!"_

In desperation Leslie lashed out with her foot and managed to connect with Tellervo's shin; the older woman released her and leaped back in surprise. Leslie grabbed the table to steady herself. "I don't have the vial," she yelled. "What on earth do you want it for?"

"That vial contains my son's tears," Tellervo snapped impatiently, obviously convinced that Leslie must be an utter idiot. "Damn you, girl, don't play stupid with me. I know you remember. _Give…me…that…vial_—or so help me, you'll join my son in his grave."

"You think using a few tears is going to bring Teppo back to life?" Leslie exclaimed in disbelief. "Good Lord, Tellervo, you're truly crazy if you believe that."

"Tears don't contain any DNA," Laursen said, astonished by this idea.

Tellervo Komainen's face looked comically bewildered as her attention swung to Laursen for a moment. "Is that true? You said before you don't know much about DNA."

"Well, I know that," Laursen retorted. "Geez, lady, Frankenstein and his revived monster are only stories. It'd take a heck of a lot more than a jug of tears to bring a dead man back to life. I hate to tell you, but you went to a boatload of trouble for nothing."

A tense silence settled over them and the moment hung suspended. Leslie and Laursen waited, neither daring to move, seeing Tellervo's eyes changing with every passing second. When the explosion came at last, it was Leslie who bore the brunt of it. Tellervo sprang two huge steps forward and seized the unprepared Leslie by both arms, forcibly backing the younger woman away from the table and to the wall. "For the last time, where is the vial?" she demanded in a quiet, ominous tone that somehow seemed more frightening than her previous screaming.

"I don't have it anymore," Leslie said calmly, staring Tellervo straight in the eyes. "The day before I left Finland, I took it to Teppo's grave and poured the contents on the roots of the rosebush we planted there."

Her quiet announcement seemed to disarm Tellervo's rage, and even from where he stood, Laursen could see the older woman descending into the madness from which her purpose had temporarily lifted her. Though she stood there with her head shaking rapidly as if in denial, words of protest in her native tongue tumbling over one another in their haste to come out, she still had Leslie pinned to the wall. Her last word in English was a strangled-sounding "no!" before she switched to its Finnish equivalent. _"Ei, ei, ei,"_ Tellervo moaned over and over. To Laursen's horror, she began to bang Leslie's head against the wall with every _"ei"_, and he leaped over to yank the insane woman away.

Her grip on Leslie was so strong that it took him nearly a full minute to get them apart, by which time Leslie was half unconscious from the beating she had taken. Once Laursen pulled her aside, she seemed to realize she no longer had her human punching bag and turned into a screaming, struggling dervish. It was all Laursen could do to keep her from attacking Leslie yet again, and he knew Leslie was in no shape to help him restrain Tellervo.

At that point thunder detonated so close by that the entire chateau shook right to its very foundation, and the room instantly went pitch-black. Startled by the bolt and the sudden absence of light, Laursen lost his grip on Tellervo, who promptly surged off into the blackness. Half a second later she crashed into one of the tables, which overturned from the force of her collision with it and sent everything on it to the floor in a musical explosion of glass beakers and tubes. Over the noise he could hear Tellervo's nonsensical shrieking in a language only she understood. Laursen huddled to the floor right where he was and waited quietly for the world to end.

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Once the lights went out, Leslie's head seemed to pound even more painfully with the loss of her vision. She had no idea what was directly in front of her, but she was beginning to see stars. Or were they? Slowly she lifted her face to what should have been stygian dark, but was in fact a gently shimmering light. It hovered just above her before resolving itself into none other than Teppo's face. She stared, afraid to look away or even blink for fear he would vanish.

"Leslie, _kulta,"_ Teppo's voice spoke softly, but quite clearly. The Finnish endearment made her eyes fill with tears, and she blinked in order to keep his face in focus. He smiled at her. "I think you saved me."

"I couldn't save you," she whispered. She ached everywhere: her eyes from straining to keep him in her sights, her head from its beating, her heart… "Tellervo says it's my fault. That I should have helped you and I didn't do anything but stand and stare."

"There was no warning, _kulta,"_ Teppo said, and his hands appeared from the mist and reached for her. She actually felt a gentle warmth radiating against her face where he "touched" her. "I didn't know that clearing was the birthplace Lempo warned me about. No, my Leslie, it was never your fault. If anyone was at fault, it was Mother. She stood there across the clearing looking at me, and I naturally started to go after her. I think that's what drove her fully into madness. She knew in her heart what she had done, and it pushed her over the edge. This whole crazy scheme was her way of trying to atone for it."

Futile though Leslie knew it was, she couldn't help but try. "Your spirit is here, your body is here…" she began, and this time the tears spilled over. "Oh, Teppo, _kultaseni_, come back to me, please." Her voice broke on the last word and she began to shiver.

Teppo's features wavered and distorted just for a moment; then he seemed to solidify, and suddenly was kneeling on the floor in front of her, radiating a strange glow that he never would have had if alive. Yet she could actually touch him, and she did so without hesitation, letting her shaking hand drift gently over his face and into his hair. He smiled regretfully at her and clasped her hand in his own before pulling her into his embrace. "I wish I could," he said softly. "But there's a much stronger force in control of all this, and I can't do anything about it. I think I've been granted a few moments to be here with you, because we never had a chance to say goodbye to each other, thanks to Lempo."

"It's been hell without you," Leslie managed, beginning to cry. "I came home because…because…" She lost control of her voice and gave in to her grief.

"I know," Teppo assured her. "I know, _kulta_, and I understand completely. You did what you had to do, and it was the best thing you could have done." He lifted her head, smoothed her hair and smiled. "You did save me, you know. There's no way of knowing what Mother would have done if you'd still had that stupid vial. As it was, you did just the right thing with it. Now I can go on, and you can go on, and you'll remember me with smiles instead of tears one day. And I'll be waiting for you. In the meantime…" He glanced somewhere overhead, at something Leslie couldn't see, and then grinned at her. "Tell Mr. Roarke that my will requested that I be buried here on Fantasy Island. That should settle the whole matter."

She giggled through her tears, and he chuckled with her. "That's my girl," he said. "I love you, my Leslie."

"I'll always love you," she vowed in a shaky whisper, "as long as I live. Longer than that."

He tilted her head back again and kissed her; then his touch was suddenly gone. Her eyes flew open just in time to see his last smile before his image faded into darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- August 19, 1990

Roarke arrived with a police escort in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, whose exact center seemed to be the chateau. Heedless of the rain and the bolts of lightning cracking the sky, he unlocked the gate and rushed across the courtyard with the cops hard on his heels. The front door was open, and they all swarmed in and zeroed in on the steps to the dungeon.

The darkness was so complete as to render everyone blind; but the noise was another story. It sounded like sheer mayhem, as if someone had gone on a destructive spree and was still at it. Roarke knew there was a light switch somewhere, and after a moment's quick investigation of the wall near the stairs, he brushed across it with one hand. Grasping the switch, he concentrated for a moment, flipped the switch down, then back up. The lights came on.

Instantly there was a long screech of _"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!"_ that could have shattered eardrums. Roarke and the cops all turned in the direction of the noise, and Roarke recognized his daughter's mother-in-law, just as he had suspected. Tellervo Komainen recoiled from the light as if it burned her, wailing incoherently and trying to cover her head.

"She is the one we are looking for," Roarke said, indicating her, and the policemen surged forward and made short work of restraining her. Roarke studied the room; Arthur Laursen was crouched in a ball on the floor, hands over the back of his head, in the midst of an ocean of glass shards. The body of Teppo Komainen, half covered with a sheet, lay supine on an enormous wooden table; and Leslie was on her knees with her arms wrapped around the table leg nearest Teppo's head, her eyes half-closed and her face bearing a faraway expression. She, too, was surrounded by broken glass.

Roarke hesitated a bare moment before going to Laursen first. "Mr. Laursen?" he questioned, stepping carefully across the floor, glass crunching under his shoes.

Laursen turned his head slightly, opened his eyes and blinked, then grinned widely. "Mr. Roarke!" he burst out. "You sure are a sight for sore eyes." Roarke extended a hand so that Laursen could avoid using the glass-covered floor as leverage to get himself to his feet, and the guest pulled himself upright, peering around him. "Man, what a mess. She sure laid waste to this place, didn't she." He noticed Tellervo Komainen then, cuffed and subdued, still mumbling incoherently. "Leslie told me who she really is and what she had in mind. What'll happen to her now?"

"She'll be returned home to Finland and placed back in the sanitarium from which she escaped," Roarke said. "Her surviving children will take care of her."

"Good," Laursen said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Uh…you might want to see to Leslie. That woman was trying to bash her head in for a little bit there, and from where I'm standing, she doesn't look too good, if you get my drift."

Roarke turned and picked his way across scattered bits of glass till he had reached Leslie; he pulled the sheet off the body, wrapped it around one hand and brushed away glass till he had cleared enough space to kneel in front of her and deliberately place himself in her line of sight. After a moment, he saw her focus on him and blink as if she were just awakening.

"Are you all right, child?" Roarke questioned softly.

"Did you see him, Mr. Roarke?" she murmured dreamily, a tiny smile forming on her face, which he only now noticed was wet with recent tears. "Teppo was here. I saw him."

Laursen overheard and approached hesitantly. "Is she talking about…him?" He gestured a touch nervously at the body on the table.

Roarke spared his guest barely a glance, leaning forward. "What did he tell you?"

"He told me it wasn't my fault that Lempo caught him in the birthplace," she said, her voice a thready whisper, her eyes sliding out of focus again. "That it must have been the way he died that drove his mother fully into madness. That he loved me." She closed her eyes then, and Roarke rose, reaching out and lifting her to her own feet before gathering her close.

"You were given a special gift," he told her quietly. "You were given the chance to say goodbye, to give yourself a measure of peace. Cherish that, my daughter, for it's extremely rare."

She lifted her head and stared at him for a moment. "He also told me to tell you that his will stipulated his wish to be buried here, on Fantasy Island," she added.

"Indeed?" said Roarke and smiled. "Then we shall certainly fulfill his final request."

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‡ ‡ ‡ -- August 20, 1990

The farewell song was an old one that Leslie recognized from the fall of her first year on the island, and its nostalgic familiarity made her smile. They bid Ace and Lisa Wilkerson goodbye, then turned to the car that bore Arthur Laursen.

He stepped out and paused in front of Roarke and Leslie, looking unsure of what to say. He seemed to be relieved when Roarke spoke first. "So, Mr. Laursen, what was your final impression about your fantasy?"

Laursen's expression grew thoughtful. "Well, it was about as far as you can get from what I was expecting," he admitted, "but maybe that's a good thing. One thing it _wasn't_ was boring, I gotta tell you." He grinned sheepishly, and Roarke chuckled before Laursen turned to Leslie. "I don't know if I helped you any," he said. "I wasn't much of an Igor. I mean, I was kind of expecting the whole thing to be a sort of movie that I was playing a role in, and instead it wound up causing you pain, in all sorts of ways."

Leslie smiled. "Don't worry, Mr. Laursen. My head's fine, just a little sore in the back. I think my heart's going to be all right, too. And don't be so hard on yourself. Your fantasy helped both me and my husband, and I think it might even have helped his mother. I just want to thank you for trying to protect me, and for 'giving' your fantasy to set right a horrible wrong."

Laursen shrugged and grinned. "I'm glad I could help," he said. "Thank you for a very stimulating weekend, Mr. Roarke and Leslie." He shook their hands, then sauntered off towards the plane, whistling to himself.

"So," Roarke said, as they both watched the charter plane taxi into the lagoon, "do you think you are ready to face Teppo's siblings, since they are on their way here in order to take charge of their mother? And do you think they're going to believe you about Teppo's will?"

"They rightfully should," Leslie said. "It really is Teppo's last request. He told me so."

Roarke regarded her for a moment, then slipped an arm around her shoulders. "So he did." She put her arm around him in return, and together they ambled back to the car that would take them home.

THE END

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_The references in Chapter 4 to the chateau and its former occupant are taken from the episode "The Chateau / White Lightning" (original airdate February 7, 1981), first story arc, with guest stars David Hedison and Pamela Franklin._


End file.
